


Riding on Your Shoulders

by Lauralot



Series: Alexander Pierce should have died slower [27]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Non-Sexual Age Play, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Red Room, Sickfic, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 07:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7631293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/pseuds/Lauralot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha keeps her feelings wrapped up tight inside.</p>
<p>It takes a fever to help her open up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Riding on Your Shoulders

  
**The problem with surviving was that you ended up with the ghosts of everyone you’d ever left behind riding on your shoulders.**  
— _The Drowned Cities_ , Paolo Bacigalupi

  


“I brought you soup.”

Whatever Natasha had been about to say is lost in a cough, dry and deep. She curls in on herself, and though her face is half-hidden in her pillow, Bucky can see the pained grimace creasing her brow. It doesn’t sound like Steve’s asthma attacks used to, thick and choking. It’s more like the way Peggy sounded the last time Bucky visited, and somehow that’s worse. His own chest clenches as Nat coughs, the soup sloshing a little in the bowl as his hand shakes. He imagines her hair going white, her body becoming as thin and brittle as Peggy’s, and his throat is tight even though it’s a ridiculous thing to worry about.

The coughing stops just as Bucky stills his hands enough to set the soup on the nightstand and start pouring a glass of water. There’s already a pitcher and glass on hand, along with an empty bowl that once held some other soup, and a jar of what Clint had called fire cider, which was supposed to speed up recovery.

Earlier, Clint had come out of Nat’s room with a spoon-shaped red mark on his face. Apparently she hadn’t liked the taste of fire cider and had instinctively tried to throw it away from herself.

“I’m fine,” Nat protests, although she still takes the glass when Bucky offers it. “Honestly, I don’t even need to be in bed.”

Which is true, according to the doctor. Natasha has walking pneumonia, which isn’t the same as the disease that still kills so many people, most of them old or sickly like Steve had been. Even with that horrible cough, bed rest isn’t necessary. Bucky knows because he looked it up on the Internet as soon as JARVIS told them what was wrong. That didn’t stop Steve from all but ordering Nat to stay in bed, though, because the only thing that Steve’s better at than worrying is being a reckless idiot.

Nat hadn’t argued, and more than anything, _that’s_ what has Bucky worried. She hadn’t even been little when Steve said it, although the more Bucky thinks about it, the more likely it seems that Tasha would be the more argumentative about going to bed anyway. She must be feeling _awful_ , and she’s been quiet and listless ever since the other Winter Soldiers left, which was a week before the coughing and fever started. Maybe she’s been feeling bad ever since the Avengers ran around Siberia in the first place, and that was weeks ago.

“You should still drink,” Bucky insists. “Or Steve’s gonna be even more of a mother hen.”

Nat shrugs as best as she can while she’s mostly lying down. “Steve’s the only one who hasn’t tried to shove some sort of cure or food down my throat so far. Tell me you didn’t bring chicken noodle. Sam and Tony’ve brought enough around that it’s starting to trigger my gag reflex.”

“It’s shchi,” Bucky says. There’s a restaurant not too far from the tower that makes real Russian food, and it seemed familiar and easy enough for a sick person to keep down. Even if it doesn’t make her feel better, he hopes it can cheer her up.

Nat doesn’t smile, though. She only finishes the glass of water and sets it back on the nightstand. “Thanks.”

“Do you need anything?” Bucky rolls the cuffs of his sleeves between his fingers, feeling as useless as he remembers from the times Steve was bedridden. “I could read or something.” He has vague memories of reading to Steve, sitting far back from his friend’s bed so he wouldn’t catch anything. “Steve tells me fairy tales when I have stomachaches.”

At first, there’s no answer; Nat just stares down at the bedspread. The silence stretches on, awkward and heavy, and Bucky’s about to excuse himself to let her rest when she finally speaks. “We used to have to read fairy tales in the Red Room.”

Bucky has no idea what to say to that, so he doesn’t speak.

“We read them in English,” Nat continues. “And French. Any language they wanted us to know. It wasn’t just fairy tales, but any books or movies we’d be expected to have knowledge of. To blend into society. There’d be target practice and sparring and then we’d come in and watch The Wizard of Oz.”

He has to fight the urge to avert his eyes. It feels so intimate, what she’s revealing, even though Nat’s face is as placid as he’s ever seen it.

“I always liked Cinderella best,” she says, but her lip curls as she speaks.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky doesn’t know if he’s apologizing for bringing up fairy tales or for her past.

Nat only shakes her head. “Don’t be. I’m fine, Bucky. I don’t need anything.”

He knows that’s not true, but Bucky doesn’t know what to give her. And he’s already made it worse. So, with a nod, he leaves the soup and goes.

*

The tapping wakes him up.

Bucky rolls to the side and finds himself pressed against a metal bar. That’s right; he’s sleeping on the top bunk of Tasha’s bed. He’s never done that before because Tasha always wants the top bunk, but he guesses she’s felt too bad to climb up the ladder, because she’s been in the bottom bunk ever since Daddy told her to go to bed.

It sounds like the tapping’s coming from the bottom bunk.

Bucky rubs his eyes, shaking his head to clear out the sleep. Bucky Bear’s already on alert, thinking up ways to stop ninja or robots or platypodes or anything else that might be sneaking in. But there’s no rustling, no noises that sound like somebody’s trying to creep in or move anything. There’s just the taps. Bucky can’t hear a pattern to them.

Once, he read Jim Morita’s autobiography, which had a lot of stuff about the war that Bucky couldn’t remember. Reading it helped him remember some things better, although there are still empty spots in his memory that just have the words he read in the books or the things Steve told him, with no pictures or sounds or feelings to match. Jim said that when everybody was locked up in Austria, sometimes they used to tap out Morse code on the bars of the cells at night. Except they didn’t do that for very long, because they decided that the guards probably knew Morse code too.

Maybe that’s what the tapping is. Tasha could be spelling out a message, like maybe there’s something under the bed and she can’t call out because then it’ll know that she knows it’s there. Or maybe Red Panda’s trying to tell them that Tasha’s getting worse.

But Bucky Bear says that Red Panda’s sitting on Tasha’s dresser and anyway, there’s no pattern to the tapping like there is to Morse code. Bucky’s glad about that; he doesn’t think he could keep track of the letters well enough to know what they spelled if it were a coded message. But he bites his lip when his eyes adjust enough to see Red Panda by Mor’du on the dresser. As far as he knows, Tasha hasn’t held either of her toys since she was sick. Maybe she just doesn’t want them to catch what she’s got, but Bucky’s pretty sure that bears and red pandas make walking pneumonia go away faster.

Bucky Bear reminds him that the tapping is still the most important thing. He insists that Bucky hold him out when he climbs down the ladder so that Bucky Bear can jump on any threats and maul them.

There aren’t any threats, though. There aren’t any people except for Tasha, who’s asleep. And she’s the one making the noise.

Her left arm is bent so that her hand’s on the pillow, farther back than her head. And her wrist keeps bumping against the headboard, lifting a little and then sliding back down. Over and over, like a wind-up toy. _Tap tap tap._

Tasha has scars on that wrist. They’re faint, but Bucky’s seen them. Tesla has them too. Tasha almost never talks about the Red Room, but Bucky was there once or twice as the Winter Soldier. They made the Black Widows fight him, learn from him. He hardly remembers any of it, but he knows there was dancing. And he knows that the girls slept handcuffed to their beds so no one could run away.

But Bucky sleeps in here all the time, and he’s never woken up to that noise before. When Crystal slept over, Bucky saw Tasha lying in her sleeping bag, and her hand wasn’t out like that. Maybe it’s because she’s sick.

Or maybe spending all that time with Tesla brought back a bunch of bad memories.

Standing at the side of the bed, Bucky gives his bear a squeeze, just staring. Should he wake her up? But she’s sick and needs to rest. Besides, Tasha doesn’t even know Bucky’s here. He’d gone to sleep in his own bed, or at least tried to. Daddy had read to him and shut out the lights, but Bucky only tossed and turned. He couldn’t help worrying about Tasha even though he knew that she wasn’t going to get really, really sick like Daddy used to. So he’d come down here, and Tasha was already asleep.

Maybe he should try putting Red Panda in her hand. Except that could also wake her up, and what if being little right now makes her think even more about the Red Room and how she grew up trapped there?

So no stuffed animals and no waking up. Bucky’s not sure what else is left. If he goes to get Clint or Daddy or Sam, Tasha’s probably going to be mad at him. Besides, it’s not like what she’s doing is dangerous. And she doesn’t even know she’s doing it. It had felt awful the time Daddy woke him up after he wet the bed, and that was something Daddy _had_ to do, because he was sleeping there too. Tasha’s not tapping Bucky on the head while he tries to sleep or anything. It’s not his business.

But it feels wrong to just leave her alone. Tasha doesn’t usually do this. What if she’s having a nightmare?

Very carefully and as quietly as he can, Bucky sets Bucky Bear down at the foot of Tasha’s bed. He’s facing out so that he can keep watch in case anybody tries to infiltrate the room. Then Bucky inches forward until he’s right at the edge of Tasha’s bed, leg brushing against the frame. He holds his breath and slides his left hand along the headboard until it’s right where Tasha’s hand just tapped.

The first time Bucky ever slept in Tasha’s room, right after she bought the bunk beds, he’d woken up to find her holding his hand. _You were crying in your sleep,_ she’d said. _I came down and held your hand and you stopped. So I went back to my bed, but you did it again. So I just stayed here._

Tasha’s hand moves back again, and gently, Bucky curls his fingers around her wrist. Her hand doesn’t slide down this time, and Tasha doesn’t stir.

Bucky lets out the breath he’d been holding. There are butterflies in his stomach. He can’t decide if this is helping or making things worse. Nobody lets him sleep in a freezer no matter how bad he feels, after all.

Bucky’s biting his lip again. There has to be something he can do.

That’s when Bucky Bear reminds him about the fairy tales. Tasha had said Cinderella was her favorite. Except that’s bringing up the Red Room all over again. But Bucky doesn’t have any other ideas.

“Once upon a time,” he whispers, so softly that he can hardly hear himself, “there was an unhappy young girl.”

Tasha doesn’t stir.

“Her mother was dead and her father had married a widow with two daughters...”

*

“So why Cinderella?” Bucky asks.

Natasha just groans and pulls the blankets over her face.

“I mean, you never choose it when we watch movies. Is the Disney version too tame? You want to see the wicked stepsisters get their eyes pecked out?”

“What difference does it make?” She tugs on the sheets again, lowering them just enough so that Bucky can see her eyes. Her voice is still raspy, but she hasn’t coughed nearly as much today.

“Just curious.” Bucky shrugs. On his lap, Bucky Bear says she’s evading the question. “Sleeping Beauty was always my favorite ‘cause it was like watching my life, except with fairies and spindles, you know? And then I’d get to see Steve rescue me and I’d get to live happily ever after. Over and over again.”

Nat’s silent for a long time. Finally, she says, “I thought her slippers were cool.”

“You didn’t worry about getting glass in your feet?”

“Have you ever worn pointe shoes?” Nat smiles, if only for a second. “That’s about how it feels, sometimes.”

“Glad no one ever wanted me for ballet,” Bucky mutters. He’s not sure what else to say to that.

Bucky Bear points out that Red Panda has just been sitting on the dresser alone, neglected for two whole days now. Bucky Bear thinks that’s shameful.

“Want your panda?” Bucky offers.

Nat glances at her dresser. For a second it looks like she’s starting to nod, but then she says “No,” and lies back against the pillow. She shuts her eyes and Bucky takes that as his cue to leave.

He doesn’t move. “What’s wrong?”

Brow furrowing, Nat opens her eyes. “ _Pneumonia_ , Bucky.”

But that’s not it. Not all of it. Natasha’s been withdrawn well before the coughing and fever, and while Bucky isn’t sure how long it takes symptoms to appear, surely it can’t take a full week. And maybe this has been going on for even longer than that; the ducklings took up so much of Bucky’s attention before they left. “You remember what you said when we talked about safewords?”

Natasha just sighs. “It’s nothing, all right?”

He ignores her. “About how anything that upsets me is a big deal? You know it goes both ways, right?”

“It’s _nothing_ , you can stop worrying—”

“You’ve been acting weird ever since—”

“—feeling bad enough without—”

“—does this have something to do with the Red Room?”

“—don’t want to talk about it!” Natasha shouts, and then Bucky’s trying to dodge a pillow hurtling toward his face. He’s not successful.

“Well, pneumonia doesn’t impact your aim,” Bucky says, deciding against putting the pillow back within her reach. “Your choice of projectile wasn’t very damaging, though.”

Natasha manages to look even more pale and exhausted than she did already. “I’m sorry.”

“Guess it could work if you were going for the element of surprise, though. If you’d done that back when we fought in DC, it might have confused me enough to give you a few seconds of lead time for your next—”

“I don’t want to talk, Bucky.” But she doesn’t tell him to go, and she doesn’t use the safeword.

“That’s what I told Steve when he first found me a doctor.” And he hadn’t talked, not for three weeks. Bucky tries to bury the thought that it might kill him if Nat takes that long to say what’s wrong, because this isn’t about him. “You said you had therapists when you were with SHIELD. Nat, have you been able to talk to anyone since SHIELD fell apart?”

“I haven’t needed to.” She twists the bed sheet in her hands, a little nervous tic that he’s never seen from her before. He’s not sure he’s ever seen an outward display of nerves from her at all. “I hadn’t been seeing anyone regularly for two years before Insight. I’d moved on. I was _fine._ “

“Until we found the other Winter Soldiers?”

Nat lets out a sigh so deep that her whole body seems to sag once it’s done. “Tesla’s my age,” she says, so faintly Bucky has to lean in to hear.

It takes a second for the implications to sink in. “Were you both—”

“We weren’t raised in the same dacha. At least, not at the same time. We’re only the same age now because she was in the ice, and I’d never even heard her name before we found the files in Siberia.” Nat lets go of the sheet, wrinkles creased into the fabric where her fingers had been. “Whatever work she did to become one of HYDRA’s elite, it must have been deep, deep cover.”

Bucky isn’t sure what to say, doesn’t know if the issue is just that Tesla brought back bad memories, or if there’s more. He waits, hoping that she’ll continue.

She does, though he has to strain to hear again. “Tesla was here and...it was like the exact opposite of Yelena.”

“Yelena?”

“Tesla isn’t the first Black Widow I’ve come across since I left the KGB,” Nat explains. “Two years after I defected, Clint and I were sent on a mission that pitted us against Yelena Belova. I _did_ grow up with her, I just...graduated a few years earlier. I was actually excited to see her.” Nat shakes her head. “I was so _happy_ to be away from the Red Room and I thought I could convince her to come with me.”

Bucky’s stomach twinges, both in sympathy and worry for where this is headed. “She didn’t want to stop being a Black Widow?”

“She spat in my face.” Nat gives him a small, self-deprecating smile, shaking her head again. “Yelena told me that after I left, conditions got even worse for the others. I don’t know if it was just at that dacha or the whole program, but they beat every last spark of hope out of those girls, Bucky. The Red Room was already hell, and I’d caused every one of them to suffer more so I could be free. Some of them probably died. And then Tesla was here, and she _lived_ through all that, and she still wanted to take care of me.”

Survivor’s guilt. That’s what the Worths would call this. Bucky’s read about it because that’s what Steve’s got too. And Nat’s even better at burying her own feelings and putting everyone else’s first than Steve is. Which is saying a lot.

He clears his throat, trying to find the right words. “You never asked to be a Black Widow, Nat. You weren’t given any choice. It’s not your fault that the people who abused you kept abusing the other girls.”

“I knew there’d be repercussions,” she mutters.

There are repercussions for the families of those who flee North Korea too, Bucky Bear points out, but Bucky doesn’t say it. Guilt and shame can’t be wiped away with facts; that’s a lesson he knows all too well. And saying that now would only belittle what Natasha’s feeling or seem like he’s trying to guilt her out of her emotions.

“I’m happy that you’re here.” He wants to reach out and take her hand like he did last night, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm her. “That we both escaped. It’s a good thing whenever someone gets away from the people hurting them. You’ve helped me so much since I got here, Nat. You understand what I’m going through more than anybody else. It’s...it’s okay to survive. And it’s not like you wanted anybody else to suffer.”

“I didn’t care.” There’s a raw, raspy edge to Natasha’s voice, and it’s not all the pneumonia. “I didn’t give a damn what happened to anyone else but me. You know I tried to fail the tests to become a Black Widow? It wasn’t because I didn’t want to kill people. It was just for me, Bucky. The things they were going to do to ensure my loyalty and focus...I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to feel incomplete or inhuman. I wanted a place in the world outside of the Red Room. But I didn’t care about the other girls. I didn’t care about anyone who was named my target.”

Her eyes are brimming with tears, and she tilts her head back toward the ceiling, trying to dry them out. It’s a trick Bucky knows well. He used to do it to keep from crying and angering Pierce. He still does it sometimes even now, when he’s too worked up to really understand that he won’t be punished for crying.

He never wants Natasha to feel like she can’t cry. “They spent your whole childhood teaching you not to feel for anyone else. Probably ever other girl felt the same way. It’s not your fault. And you changed once you had the chance, and you never—”

“Remember when I told you why I wanted to be a kid?” Nat asks. She still hasn’t spilled any tears, but that doesn’t keep her from wiping at her face.

“Because you never had a real childhood.”

“Yeah.” She sniffs, still wiping at her skin as if she can push the tears farther back into her eyes. “Because I wanted to be a kid. I wanted to be loud and jump on the bed and draw on the walls without anyone telling me no. I wanted ice cream and cookies and movies I could watch because _I_ wanted to, not because they were things I had to have adequate knowledge of. You know why Cinderella was my favorite story? Because I wanted to get dressed up and go to the ball and get everything I ever wanted. Sometimes I used to pretend I was her and Madame B. was my wicked stepmother.”

She sniffs again. The tears must be under control because now she’s tugging on the ends of her hair. “That was the woman who trained us. I used to wonder if there was a Madame A. who’d died. I wondered if that was all I had to look forward to if the missions would ever stop, making other girls into assassins. I wondered how many times they’d gone through the whole alphabet, how many generations of Black Widows they’d churned out.”

“You did get to be Cinderella,” Bucky tries. It’s a stupid, saccharine thing to say, but it’s better than letting Natasha spiral into an existential panic attack based on a future she’s no longer beholden to. “I guess that makes Clint your fairy godmother.”

“I always thought the fairy godmother was stupid.” Natasha’s cheeks are pink. From fever, from the friction of her hands, from the wellspring of emotions that Bucky’s tapped into and can’t seem to stem. “Even when I was a kid. I knew no one would come wave a wand and fix my life. I’d just have to take whatever I wanted.” She draws her arms tight around herself. “And leave anyone else behind. They’d just get in my way.”

“Tasha,” Bucky says. Not because he thinks this conversation would be easier if she were seven, but because he really wants to hug her but he doesn’t know if that’s crossing a line and he feels so useless and little and overwhelmed. Natasha’s always been the one to take care of him. Why can’t he be better when it needs to be the other way around? “You spent every day of your life for as long as you could even remember in a place working to take away your empathy. The Red Room was so good at breaking people that they didn’t even need a chair to do it. I know it doesn’t make it hurt any less, but they did that to everybody.”

“Tesla was out of ice for a week and she wanted to take care of us.” She’s huddled up and small on the bed, and her guilt and self-loathing almost seem like palpable forces compressing her tighter. Like they could press harder and harder until she’s solid and cold as diamond, and Bucky would have no way to break through. “Take care of _me._ And she was with the Soviets so much longer.”

Bucky can’t help himself. He gets onto the bed beside her, pressing Bucky Bear up against her side because he’s softer and less overwhelming, more likely to break through all the feelings caging her in. The Russians used to keep Bucky in a cage. Maria brought it in during the trial, and it was so small that it must have scraped Bucky’s skin raw when he was in it. If not for the serum, he’d have scars all over the way Nat has on her wrist. “Josef fought with our handlers.”

Nat doesn’t answer. She doesn’t take Bucky Bear either, even though he’s being as soft and inviting as he possibly can, insisting that it’s just for the mission and usually he’s a fierce predator.

“The very first time they brought him out to spar after the serum took effect, he fought the handlers.” Bucky’s still not sure what caused it. Maybe just senseless rage brought about by an imperfect replica of Erskine’s work. Or maybe fury at the pain he’d suffered through. Or realization that HYDRA wanted to use them as tools. “And once he started fighting, so did all the others. They didn’t hesitate. I could have joined them. Maybe we could have run away. But Karpov told me to get him out of that space and I knew it would hurt if I disobeyed, and I was angry and scared because Josef had beaten me. So I didn’t help them. And I just stayed HYDRA’s puppet.”

“That’s not the same, Bucky.” At least Natasha’s looking at him now.

“Why? Because they had a chair? Do you blame Tesla for what she grew up to be? Or Yelena? If they wanted to have a real childhood, would you call them selfish?”

“They’re not me!”

“You’re an Avenger,” Bucky says. Bucky Bear is squished almost flat against her side now, and Bucky’s hands are shaking. He just wants her to hold him. He just wants to _help._ “Maybe you didn’t care what you did then, but you do now. You saved the world in New York and DC and probably dozens of other places. You’re the one who got me calmed down when I thought I’d done something so bad that Steve could never love me. You—” His face reddens, but he charges on. “You got me to stop being a stubborn _idiot_ and do something I should have done the very first time I couldn’t sleep through the night. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be doing even half as well as I am. I’d never have been able to calm down the other soldiers. You’ve done so much good. You keep me going just as much as Steve does.”

Natasha hides her face in her hands. She’s quiet, but he can tell from how her shoulders move that she’s crying, and panic flares up in his stomach. He was supposed to help. Her body’s less closed off now that she’s moved her hands, and Bucky tries shoving his bear onto her lap. It’s all he can think to do.

And she drops one hand down to crush Bucky Bear against her chest, so maybe it’s working.

“My doctors say it’s okay to feel bad,” Bucky says. He has to fight the urge to grab Bucky Bear back because he feels so small and scared, like he’s making everything worse. “They say everybody feels sad and guilty about some stuff. But they also say that no matter how bad you feel, there are a lot of people who are really happy that you’re around and you got away from whatever you feel bad about.”

He probably shouldn’t reach out and put his hand over hers, just brushing against Bucky Bear’s fur around the sides of her hand, but he can’t help it. “I blame myself for a lot of stuff. The stuff that HYDRA wanted. The games that...that _Pierce_ played and the times he got mad at me. And my doctors say those feelings are normal, but they’re irrational and I need to tell myself over and over that the people who hurt me are the ones who were bad, not me. You’re not bad, Tasha. You wouldn’t be an Avenger if you were, and Bucky Bear would have eaten you.”

Her shoulders shake again. Bucky Bear says she laughed. Bucky really hopes that’s true.

“You deserve to have ice cream and red pandas and stories,” Bucky says, trying to squeeze her hand without hurting. “Because every kid deserves to have that stuff, and everybody should get to be a kid. My doctors say it’s okay to feel bad, but if you feel that way all the time, then it’s like being sick, and you need a doctor if you can’t make it stop by yourself.”

Natasha raises her head. Her hair’s still in her face, but he can tell she’s wiping her eyes again. “Your doctors are smart,” she says, voice thick. “Tony did a good job picking them out.”

“You can talk to them if you wanna,” Bucky says quickly. “Or they could recommend somebody else like they did with Daddy. They’re really nice.” And they help people for a living, so they’re the best at it.

“Yeah.” Natasha brushes her hair out of her face. Her eyes are all red and she’s not smiling, but she’s not crying anymore either. “I...I should talk to someone. Just not today, okay? I can’t handle opening up to strangers until I’m not feverish.”

“I should let you sleep,” Bucky says immediately. He made her cry while she has walking pneumonia, and for all he knows, that could make it turn into real pneumonia. And Bucky Bear says they have to go right now because he doesn’t know if bears can catch real pneumonia or not, and they shouldn’t take the risk.

“No,” Natasha says. Now she’s the one squeezing his hand. “You made me feel better than I have all week, Bucky. Just...stay a little longer, okay? I don’t feel so bad when I’m not alone in my head.”

“Then I should get Red Panda and Mor’du.”

“Sure.” Natasha smiles. Her eyes are still watery, but the smile looks real. “Thanks, Bucky. For everything.”

He stays there until dinner time, and when Clint brings in soup, he assures them that bears and red pandas are immune to pneumonia, whether or not it’s the walking kind.

**Author's Note:**

> [Shchi](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shchi) is a traditional Russian soup made of cabbage. [Fire cider](http://www.mommypotamus.com/fire-cider-recipe/) consists of apple cider vinegar that has had various roots, herbs, and vegetables fermenting within it for a period of two to four weeks.
> 
> [Walking pneumonia](http://www.webmd.com/lung/walking-pneumonia) is actually the exact same disease as regular pneumonia; walking pneumonia is simply the term giving to milder cases.
> 
> _Agent Carter_ portrayed the Red Room as using Disney's _Snow White_ and other cartoons to help the girls master the English language and American accents, so I thought, "Why not ruin all kinds of other classic movies too?" _Agent Carter_ also introduced the concept of the girls in the Red Room being cuffed to their beds.
> 
> Bucky's memory of Natasha holding his hand on the bed comes from an earlier installment of this series, _Blaming the Gun._ The sleepover referenced is in the installment _Up Too Late._ The discussion of nonsexual safewords occurred in _But Keep the Old._
> 
> [Yelena Belova](http://marvel.wikia.com/wiki/Yelena_Belova_\(Earth-616\)) is another Black Widow from the comics. [Madame B.](http://marvel.wikia.com/wiki/Madame_B_\(Earth-199999\)) is the trainer coaching Natasha in the Red Room as seen in Natasha's flashback during _Age of Ultron._
> 
> Check out this awesome APSHDS-inspired fic: [_Trapped, trapped, trapped ('till the cage is full)_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7571494/chapters/17225668) by [fuckyeahdeafandasexual](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahdeafandasexual/pseuds/fuckyeahdeafandasexual).
> 
> Come say hello on my [Tumblr!](http://lauralot89.tumblr.com)


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